


Why Do You Want Me To Say The Obvious?

by clamtom



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Gay, M/M, Tattoos, big gay !, courtesy clerk au, femme!hui, hui wears makeup and nail polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clamtom/pseuds/clamtom
Summary: Hwitaek was about to quit when the new guy showed up. Then the new guy showed up, his name was Hyojong and he was blonde with freckles and blue eyes. He had a tattoo of a flower on the back of his hand, under his thumb. And Hwitaek didn't quit.(courtesy clerk/grocery store worker au LMAO)





	Why Do You Want Me To Say The Obvious?

**Author's Note:**

> thigns this is based on: my job as a courtesy clerk at safeway, hyojong's tattoos, hwitaek's look in the shine accapella vid. ENJOY KINGS AND QUEENS

Hwitaek had been working as a courtesy clerk at the Safeway right by his college campus for over three months at that point. He was old enough to cashier, or run the self check outs, or do _literally anything else_ , but they kept him on courtesy.

“We’re understaffed, you know that.” His boss told him over and over.

It wasn’t exactly the worst job on earth. Mostly he just wandered around the store, putting misplaced products back on the right shelf, carrying stacks of baskets to the front doors, pushing carts up from the garage.

It wasn’t _painful_ work, but it was menial. And thankless. His boss never gave him the time of day beyond dumping more items in the already full cart of things he needed to return to the shelves, and customers were always rude and snarky. They always approached him with questions when he was obviously busy. And they always had something to say about the fact that he liked to paint his nails

Hwitaek was actually making plans on the most effective and dramatic manner to quit when the new guy showed up.

He was lost in his thoughts and the faint humming of the freezer he was filling up with stacks of frozen pizzas and burritos. His boss had to call out his name. And then a second time.

“Hwitaek Lee!”

He pronounced it Hwi-take. Hwitaek jolted away from his work, bruising his ankle against the plastic base that jutted out from the bottom of the freezer. Two boxes of frozen pizza tumbled to the floor, and one dented with how hard he clutched it in his hand.

“What? Huh?” He blinked at his boss, “Hi.” His grip on the pizza box loosened.

“Jesus, Hwitaek, pay attention.”

“Sorry.” He said, although he was more irritated than apologetic.

Hwitaek’s gaze drifted from his boss to the person standing slightly behind him. It was a boy. Maybe Hwitaek’s age. He was wearing the store’s uniform.

“We have a new hire.” The boss said, filling in before Hwitaek even had the time to formulate the question, “Courtesy. His name is, uh, Hyojong.” (Pronounced Hyo-john by the boss), “I need you to show him the ropes.”

Hwitaek started at the sound of the name and took another look at the slightly bemused looking boy standing behind his boss. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, he supposed, but Hwitaek lived in an extremely Caucasian town. He’d only met three other Asian boys and one Asian girl in the time he’d lived there, and he was friends with all of them.

The boy’s hair was blond and his eyes were blue, but his nose bridge was soft and his eyes were lidded in a way that made Hwitaek immediately suspect bleach and colored contacts. His irritation faded into something more warm.

Hwitaek turned back to his boss, “Okay. Leave him to me.”

His boss nodded with an air of finality, “Have fun, you two.” And then he walked off.

The new guy, Hyojong, shifted uncomfortably now that he didn’t have anyone to hide behind. He shivered and Hwitaek realized the freezer door was still open. Hwitaek closed it with a snap.

Hyojong was taller than him. Maybe just an inch or so. Aside from the blonde hair and light blue eyes, he was also pale, almost frail looking in his oversized black polo. There was a splash of freckles across his nose, too uniform to be anything other than painted on.

Hwitaek took all of this in with a quirk of his eyebrow.

After a moment of quiet, Hyojong quirked a half smile and stuck a hand out. It had three rings on it, two on one finger and one on another, and there was a mess of different beaded bracelets wrapped around his wrist. And there was a black tattoo of a flower on the back of his hand, below his thumb.

“Hey. Kim Hyojong. Ah, I mean, Hyojong Kim.”

Hwitaek took his hand and shook it, his finger pressed against the center of the flower.

“Lee Hwitaek,” Without letting go of Hyojong’s hand, he added in Korean, “ _What’s up_?”

Hyojong looked surprised for only a second before renewing his grip on Hwitaek’s fingers and grinning in earnest, showing a set of bright white teeth. He jutted his chin out when he smiled, Hwitaek noticed.

“ _Could be worse_ .” He replied, “ _I have a job now, at least_.”

They dropped each others hands. Hyojong bent over to pick up the pizza boxes Hwitaek left on the group. When we was standing up again, he gave Hwitaek a questioning look.

Hwitaek pointed wordlessly at the freezer door the pizza’s went behind, and Hyojong opened it up and put the boxes gently back into place. Hwitaek stepped past him and put the box he had in his hand in with the rest. Hyojong stayed and adjusted them until they were all perfectly straight. When he was done, he turned back to Hwitaek. He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his baggy, torn, and entirely work inappropriate, jeans. There were tears so high up that a few of his fingers poked out of one of them. Hwitaek stared with blank fascination.

“ _I like your nails, by the way_.” Hyojong mumbled.

They were painted a sheer, glittery purple. He’d done them last night, so they had yet to start chipping. With the type of work he did ( _they_ did, now that Hyojong was joining him), they would be halfway gone by the end of his shift.

“Thanks.” Hwitaek said, back in English.

And as it turned out, Hwitaek didn’t end up quitting that week.

 

Hwitaek was right about the eyes. On their next shift together, Hyojong took out his contacts halfway through. Hwitaek was in the middle of explaining how refill the paper towel dispenser in the public bathroom, and when he turned around to make sure Hyojong was paying attention, his eyes had turned from icy blue to almost black.

“Oh, fuck.” Hwitaek mumbled.

Hyojong looked confused for a second, and then his face cracked into a wide grin, “Sorry, they were hurting. And we’re right by a sink, so.” He switched to Korean, “ _I was just taking advantage of the opportunity, Hyung._ ”

“ _This is America. You don’t have to call me Hyung._ ”

“It’s funny.” He said in English.

This was only their second time working together, but Hwitaek had picked up a couple things about Hyojong. He was Korean, obviously, and he’d only moved to America when he started high school, meaning only five years ago. He hadn’t attended Hwitaek’s highschool, but he was attending Hwitaek’s college, the campus was just so huge they’d never crossed paths. His English was still faintly accented and his greatly preferred speaking Korean with Hwitaek. He also liked to tease. Even though Hwitaek was his _Hyung_ and even though they’d only met the day before.

And he liked Hwitaek’s nails. He was very impressed when their shifts started, and he saw that Hwitaek had painted over where the purple had chipped the day before with a similar glittery blue. He said it looked like a sunset. Hwitaek thanked him in Korean and then told him to shut up and get to work in English.

There were other things Hwitaek was picking up on, too, that he didn’t know quite how to phrase. Hyojong was very quiet. Soft spoken, but not like he was shy. Just like he liked listening more than talking. Hwitaek had almost jumped out of his skin earlier, when Hyojong snuck up behind him and told him that a customer complained about the paper towel dispenser in the restroom being empty. He was so fucking quiet. Maybe Hwitaek just spaced out too much

 _Apparently_ , because Hyojong had to wave a hand in front of Hwitaek’s face and he snapped back to reality.

“You were, uh, telling me about the… knob?”

“What?” Hwitaek blinked, “Oh! Right.” He turned back to the opened paper towel dispenser and twisted the knob at the base of it, “You feed the paper towel through here, and then you twist the knob and–” He flourished and Hyojong gasped as the paper towel caught briefly and then was fed through the rollers and out the bottom of the dispenser. It ripped itself into a symmetrical spiked pattern against the razor on the inside of the dispenser.

Hyojong hooted and clapped and Hwitaek gave a small bow before finally closing the dispenser.

“ _Wow, Hyung_ . _That was so sexy._ We love a handyman.”

“Shut up.” Hwitaek said, but he was smiling.

Another thing Hwitaek picked up about Hyojong was that Hyojong made him laugh.

A knock came at the door.

“Sorry,” Hwitaek called, “Coming right out!”

He turned to leave and Hyojong followed close behind. Hwitaek opened the door and saw that the person waiting on the other side was an frail looking gray-haired woman. He gave her his best and brightest customer service smile.

“Sorry for the wait, ma’am.”

Instead of smiling back, she looked between the two boys in front of her and flushed a bright pink, “Oh! Hopefully I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

Hwitaek furrowed his brows, “Oh, no, it’s alright. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

She glanced between them again as they cleared the doorway.

“I– well, alright.” She shuffled in and shut the door behind her with one last glance over her shoulder.

Hwitaek smiled bemusedly, about to turn to Hyojong and ask him what was up with her, but when his eyes landed he saw that Hyojong was a similar shade of pink as the woman.

Hwitaek’s mouth closed halfway through the word he was about the utter. Hyojong pushed a hand through his shaggy blond hair.

“I’d, uh, better get back to those go-backs.” He mumbled before jogging (practically sprinting) down the hallway and back to the main area of the store.

Another thing Hwitaek picked up about Hyojong. He blushed. All the way from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck.

 

Hwitaek only saw Hyojong outside of work once, when he was grocery shopping. Hwitaek was restocking the bread wall when he caught bright blonde out of the corner of his eye. He did that much too often, whipping his head around when he saw a blonde head on days when Hyojong wasn’t working. Usually it would be some Swedish family, or else just a different variety of white guy with bleached hair. That time it was him.

Hyojong, leaning on the handle of the shopping cart and reading something on his phone. Hwitaek tossed the loaf of sourdough he was holding back into the pile. The bread wall could wait.

Hwitaek put his feet on the bottom shelf of the cart and wrapped his hands around the front of the basket. Hyojong didn’t even notice him until his weight pushed the cart against Hyojong’s abdomen. Hyojong looked up from his phone, blinking, and then broke into a wide grin when he saw Hwitaek in front of him. Hwitaek’s stomach flipped. Hyojong’s eyes crinkled and his chin jutted forwards.

“ _Hyojong-ah_ ,” He said softly. He had meant to shout, to cause a scene. Turn it into some kind of joke, that Hyojong was here, _grocery shopping_ in the hellscape that they worked at, but his voice came out soft, “ _Customers often get lost in the aisles. Let me show you around the store_.”

“ _Shouldn’t you be calling me Sir?_ ”

Hwitaek snorted and Hyojong pushed his cart forward without waiting for Hwitaek to get off, letting him stay as a passenger. He felt like the mermaid carved on the front of a pirate ship.

Hyojong had to look over Hwitaek’s shoulder as he talked.

“ _I’m just here to get some little things. Vegetables and stuff._ ”

“Well, you’re heading in the right direction, Sir.” Hwitaek said in English, and in his bright customer service voice, “Our produce section is just down this way.”

Hyojong giggled. It was the first time Hwitaek had seen him out of his uniform, although Hyojong very much liked to personalize his uniform. He was wearing a low cut white tank top and baggy, camouflage patterned jeans. Hwitaek found himself watching the muscles of Hyojong’s arms as he worked to push the weight of both Hwitaek and the few groceries he already had in his cart. He had a tattoo on his shoulder that Hwitaek had never seen before. A heart.

“I like that one.” He said, taking one hand off the shopping cart to point.

Hyojong blinked at him for a moment and then smiled lopsidedly.

“I thought this one was your favorite.” He held out his hand, showing the flower that was tattooed near his thumb. It was the first one Hwitaek had noticed, when they shook hands the first day they met. The also had a cross on the back of his neck, and various circles and exes scattered across his arms. The other one of note was “kiss me” written above two cherries on his inner arm. Hwitaek first saw that one when Hyojong was reaching over him to adjust a bottle of juice while they were facing.

Hwitaek had stammered something about whether it was a question or an order. Hyojong didn’t seem to hear him, which was for the best. In reality, that one was probably Hwitaek’s favorite tattoo, but that was _much_ too risky to say, even for him. The flower was cute, too.

“ _What else have you been hiding from me?_ ” Hwitaek asked.

Hyojong only wiggled his eyebrows at him. Hwitaek spluttered and swatted at Hyojong’s shoulder. He giggled and went back to pushing the cart.

“ _Grab me some tomatoes when we pass by_ .” Hyojong ordered gently. _Kiss me_ shone up from his arm, “ _Three or four._ ”

Hwitaek picked up five, and Hyojong rolled his eyes and grinned at him.

“Should pick up some jalapenos, too.” Hyojong said. He pushed the cart and looked in Hwitaek’s eyes as he talked. Hwitaek was not going to admit he was starting to get flustered, but he was going to admit his legs were getting sore. He hopped off of the cart and walked beside Hyojong instead. Hyojong was only an inch taller than him in his work shoes, but he stood four inches taller in the boots he was wearing. Hwitaek frowned up at him, Hyojong grinned jovially back.

“What are you making, anyway?”

“Salsa.”

“Salsa?” Hwitaek repeated, incredulous, “We sell salsa. On aisle four.”

Hyojong rolled his eyes, “I know what aisle the salsa is on, dick.”

“Then go get some.”

“Hwitaek,” Hyojong said earnestly, stopping them in front of the wall of peppers and herbs, “Everything’s better homemade.”

“I–” Hwitaek stared at him. Somehow this knowledge is surprising. Hyojong, in his camo pants and studded boots, liking things to have a homier feel. Hwitaek himself subsisted entirely on packaged ramen and Mexican takeout, which he assumed was the case for everyone his age. He thought of Hyojong’s lunches, which he saw only occasionally, since they weren’t supposed to overlap their lunch shifts. While Hwitaek gnawed on some fried chicken from the store deli and complained about some customer or another, Hyojong always listened with a faint smile, taking hearty bites out of a salad or stew or stirfry. He hadn’t considered the possibility before, but they were all in tupperware. It would make sense for them to all be brought from home. Hwitaek had a sudden and crystal clean vision of Hyojong in his cramped apartment kitchen, making lunch for the two of them.

Hyojong could have easily grabbed his own jalapenos, but Hwitaek grabbed three and put them all in a little plastic bag for him. Hyojong smiled. Hyojong asked sweetly for them and Hwitaek grabbed him a lemon and a few cloves of garlic while he was at it.

“Your nails are red.” Hyojong said as Hwitaek placed his loot into the shopping cart, “Pretty.”

Hwitaek felt his face growing hot and was glad he wasn’t as obvious of a blusher as Hyojong was.

“They’re supposed to pop against the uniform,” He said, flapping his hand at Hyojong as nonchalantly as he could manage, “ _What else did you need to get?_ ”

“Um, Lacroix.” He flustered for a moment, “And… flowers.” His eyes darted away from Hwitaek. They were both dark brown that day. Pretty, Hwitaek thought.

He blinked at Hyojong.

“Why are you more embarrassed about the flowers than the Lacroix?”

Hyojong gaped for only a second before starting to laugh that pretty laugh he had. It was like his smile turned to a hundred, the raised cheeks, the creased eyes, the semi circle of his mouth revealing bright white teeth. Hwitaek was overwhelmed.

After Hyojong stopped laughing he was still smiling, and he said, “What’s wrong with Lacroix?”

“It tastes like dish soap.” Hwitaek replied. Hyojong started laughing again, Hwitaek kept talking to keep himself from staring, “I don’t know. You don’t seem like a– a Lacroix Boy.”

Hyojong shook his head to dispel some of his laughter, “And, what? I seem like a flower boy?”

Hwitaek prodded the tattoo under Hyojong’s thumb. A flower. Hyojong rolled his eyes and batted Hwitaek’s hand away. Hwitaek had stayed straight faced until then, but he began to grin stupidly. Hyojong giggled and smiled back at him.

“Okay, Sir. Let me take you to our floral section and show you our selection.” Hwitaek took ahold of the front of the shopping cart and looked straight at Hyojong, “Hop on, Sir.”

Hyojong looked mystified, but obliged, stepping up onto the bottom bar of the shopping cart and holding onto the handles. He gave Hwitaek a charmed look, “All strapped in.”

Hwitaek nodded solemnly and pulled them forwards, towards the floral department. Hyojong leaned forwards against the handle. Other than the tomatoes and jalapenos and garlic and lemons, the only other contents of his cart were shampoo, air freshener, toilet paper and a large bag of nacho chips, likely to go with the salsa. Just like the homemade meals, Hwitaek wasn’t sure if him or any other guy his age had ever bought air freshener in their lives.

He stopped them in front of the floral displays. Safeway wasn’t exactly revered for its floral department. There were a few rows of orchids against the wall, some succulents, a center stand that displayed roses, and another that displayed various mix and matched bouquets; sunflowers and lilies and other flowers Hwitaek didn’t have the vocabulary for.

Hwitaek found the whole thing rather unimpressive, but Hyojong gazed at them longingly. Hwitaek watched as he stepped down from the cart to brush his fingers across the petals of a small purple flower. Hwitaek followed him, dragging the cart along with him.

He looked quietly over Hyojong’s shoulder as he studied the flowers. Some he would hold where the stem connected to the bud and tilt from side to side, like how a mother might hold on to the chin of her son to examine his face. He didn’t even seem to consider the roses, only the bouquets made up of small bunches of daisies and other delicately petaled flowers.

Hwitaek had never really seen the appeal of flowers, never really found them all that pretty, but he couldn’t say the same about how Hyojong looked when he looked at flowers. Hyojong’s lips were parted slightly, a few strands of wispy blond hair hung in front of his face, his eyes glittered. The freckles were there, faint and light brown. They brought out the pink of his lips.

Hwitaek’s boss had to call out his name, and then a second time, before his gaze snapped away from Hyojong’s lips.

“Hwitaek, what do you think you’re doing?” He called. He pronounced it Hwi-take, “I don’t pay you to flirt– Oh. Hello, Hyojong.” Pronounced Hyo-john.

Hyojong gave their boss a strained smile and then turned to Hwitaek. His fingertips didn’t move away from the petals of the yellow flower he had been looking over.

“ _I’ll see you later then?_ ” He said in Korean. Their boss stared at them.

“ _Right_.” Hwitaek straightened up. He looked between Hyojong, whose gaze rested on him steadily, and the flowers his fingers gently weighed upon.

“ _You should get the pink and yellow ones_ ,” He said, “ _You look pretty standing next to them_.”

Hyojong’s collarbones turned pinker than the flowers. Kiss me shone up from the arm he had outstretched towards the bouquet. Hwitaek hurried to get back to his job.

 

Things Hwitaek knew by Hyojong’s three month anniversary: the eyes were fake. The hair was fake (drugstore bleach). _Even the freckles were fake._

One day, as they were pushing rows and rows of heavy shopping carts through the un air conditioned depths of the car garage, Hyojong sweated so heavily that the individually placed tan dots turned into a single brown smudge across his nose.

“I knew it!” Hwitaek’s shriek echoed in the garage.

Hyojong tried to punch his arm but he couldn’t reach other the row of carts. Instead he descended into giggles, which turned into coughing since he has already badly out of breath. Hwitaek joined him.

They were lucky there were no customers wandering around the garage that day. They looked insane, two boys propped against shopping carts, heaving their lungs up onto the concrete.

“ _Shit_ ,” Hyojong gasped, “I asked you down here to help me with the carts not to– not to be _exposed_.”

Hyojong was leaning across one of the carts, his arms draped in front of him. Hwitaek gulped down his laughter long enough to reach forward and grab one of Hyojong’s hands in both of his own. He looked at his coworker dead in the eye.

“ _I knew from the moment I met you_.” He said in Korean.

Hyojong blinked and then groaned. It seemed to take him a moment to realize the comment was about his freckles.

“Let go of me.” He whined, “Your hand’s so sweaty it’s literally _wet_.”

“Wet with the truth.” Hwitaek said.

When they finally got into the elevator and up to the store level, Hwitaek took Hyojong and the carts over to the docking area, leaving the carts against the wall and leading Hyojong to the sanitary wipe dispenser that stood next to them. It was for the particularly squeamish customers, so they could wipe down the handles of their shopping carts before using them. More often than not they were just pulled out by little kids and then thrown on the ground. For Hwitaek and Hyojong to pick up.

“Let me clean you up. You look like someone rubbed chocolate on your face.”

“Or poop.” Hyojong pointed out.

“Yeah. Or poop.

Hwitaek tore out a sanitary wipe with one hand and placed the thumb of the other against Hyojong’s chin. Hwitaek knew Hyojong could easily walk to the back of the store and use the staff bathroom to clean up himself, but they were already there. And part of Hwitaek wanted to do it for him.

“Hold still,” Hyojong did, “And close your eyes.” Hyojong didn’t.

Hwitaek didn’t ask again, only took a small breath and began rubbing at the smudge as gently as he could.

Hyojong only had one contact in that day. _Heterochromia Concept_ he’d called it when their shift started. One was a bright blue and one was almost black.

Hwitaek couldn’t help thinking, as his thumb felt the soft warmth of Hyojong’s chin, and he felt the soft contours of the bridge of Hyojong’s nose, that the darker eye was much more intense. Much prettier.

He pulled the wipe back and tilted Hyojong’s face from side to side, making sure he got everything.

“Perfecto.” He said, in an entirely awful Italian accept. Hwitaek brandished the now-brown-tinted wipe as proof of his accomplishments. Hyojong snorted.

“ _Thanks, Hyung.”_

There was still some sweat lingering near Hyojong’s hairline, and around the base of his neck near his collarbones. Hwitaek decided to wipe that away too, while he was at it. Hyojong’s polo was so oversized that having just the top two buttons opened revealed the top of his chest and entire swaths of collarbone. Hwitaek could feel how soft the skin there was through the wipe. He could feel Hyojong’s quiet breaths against the inside of his wrist as he wiped his forehead. His shirt moved as Hwitaek wiped across the top of his shoulder, and a sliver of his tattoo appeared. The heart with the rays of light emanating from it.

Hyojong’s face was pink when Hwitaek pulled away. Hwitaek would’ve thought it from the rubbing that his nose just endured, but it spread from the tips of his ears all the way to the base of his neck.

So it’d been two months and Hwitaek hadn’t quit yet. That was something.

 

About another half a month in, Hwitaek realized something even more dramatic than Hyojong’s fake freckles and tendency to glow bright red:

He knew absolutely _nothing_ about the guy.

The realization stopped him dead in his tracks, causing the gobacks in his cart to jostle wildly and the old man who was walking behind him in the aisle give an irritable shout.

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Hwitaek spluttered, and when the man only looked more offended, he amended, “I mean, oh, fuck–I mean– I’m so sorry sir.”

The man grumbled and Hwitaek tried not to immediately bump into him again as he turned his cart around and sped back towards the register reserved for dropping off gobacks.

It was insane. He’d been working with this guy for a month and a half. _Flirting_ with this guy for a month and a half, which he was finally admitting to himself, and he didn’t even have his phone number. Didn’t have his Snapchat. Didn’t even know his favorite color. He only knew that his eyes and hair and freckles were fake, that he was (obviously) Korean, that he liked to tease. That he made Hwitaek laugh. That he liked Hwitaek’s nails (bright yellow that day). That he blushed from the tips of his ears all the way to the base of his neck. Hwitaek realized he knew nothing.

He realized that he needed more.

He all but ran towards the break room, where he knew Hyojong would be taking his lunch break at that very moment.

It was 8 P.M. but they still called it lunch. It was a retail thing.

He got the keycode for the breakroom wrong twice with all of his panicked fumbling. When he finally burst in, Hyojong and another breaking coworker (his nametag read ‘Steve’) looked up at the same time.

Hyojong was mid chew on his ham and cheese sandwich.

“Hyojong, I–” Hwitaek’s eyes darted over to ‘Steve’ and he hurriedly switched to Korean, “ _Hyojong. Come over to my place. Let me make you dinner. Homemade dinner._ ”

‘Steve’ looked between the two of them. Hyojong flushed from the tips of his ears down to the base of his neck.

“Why?” He said in English, and then repeated it in Korean.

“ _Everything’s better homemade._ ”

Hyojong laughed slightly at that, “ _No, I mean, why make me dinner?_ ”

“ _Because I want to_.”

Hwitaek scrambled for his phone, which he kept in his back pocket, against store policy, and held it out to Hyojong.

“ _Put your number in._ ”

Hwitaek felt insane, but he felt right. Hyojong’s confusion split into a slight smile as he gingerly took Hwitaek’s phone from him.

“ _You’re so forward, Hwitaek-hyung._ ”

Hwitaek looked him in the eyes as he handed the phone back. There were no contacts today, all he saw was brilliant dark brown, almost black, half hidden as Hyojong’s smile pushed his cheeks up.

“ _It’s a date._ ” Hwitaek said dumbly, sliding his phone back into his pocket. It was warm from Hyojong’s brief grip. Hwitaek tried to remember if they were that warm when they shook hands, that first day that they met.

For once, Hyojong wasn’t the first one to break eye contact.

“ _Sounds like it is._ ”

 

The apartment Hwitaek shared with his roommate, Hyunah, was small. It wasn’t like courtesy clerking paid for a lot. It was small and made even smaller by the three incredibly tall boys and one healthily sized girl all crowded around his kitchen counter.

Hwitaek only knew four other Asians outside of Hyojong, and he wanted Hyojong to meet all of them.

Maybe that made it less of a date, if there were four more people there. Hwitaek wasn’t sure exactly what parameters made something a date.

Yanan was Chinese, Yuto was Japanese, Wooseok and Hyunah were both Korean, like him and Hyojong. Yanan and Yuto complained about it frequently. Four against one against one, when Hyojong came over. Hyunah had to remind them that they were all Asian and that they were all in this together. Yuto grumbled and told her to tell that to the two guys who never understood what everyone was laughing about when they watched Kdramas together.

“Hwitaek. Cooking.” Hyunah drawled, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I get twenty percent off groceries, I might as well.”

Hyuna rolled her eyes. She was sitting on one of his kitchen counters, being mostly useless. Yuto, Yanan and Wooseok were hunched over side by side, cutting various vegetables per Hwitaek’s orders. Hwitaek was pushing shit around in a pan, just doing his best. Hyojong was on his way.

_on my way! be there in 20? ♪~ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ_

Hwitaek hadn’t expected Hyojong to be an emoticon user. He also in general wasn’t sure what the emoticon meant. Was Hyojong going to run all the way to his place? Maybe. Among other things, Hwitaek had no idea what dorm Hyojong lived in. Or if he even lived in a dorm. Hwitaek didn’t, but he was older. Not that much older, though. Hwitaek realized he didn’t even know how much older.

Wooseok squinted against the onions he was chopping, “This guy’d better, like, I don’t know. Shit money or something. If I’m slaving away in a kitchen, it’d better be for someone who shits hundred dollar bills.”

“If he did that he wouldn’t be working at Safeway.”

Hwitaek scooped the onions out from under his friend and threw them into the pan. Hyunah pat Wooseok’s head indulgently.

“What are we even making?” Yuto groaned.

“I don’t know.” Hwitaek said honestly, “I’m figuring it out.”

The row of three boys all whined in unison. Hyunah cackled.

“Shut up!” Hwitaek snapped, “I’m gonna throw this shit onto some rice and it’s gonna be fucking delicious. Fucking sexy.”

The boys grumbled among themselves and Hyunah stopped snorting into her palm long enough to tell Hwitaek she believed him.

“If this tastes bad I’m gonna cry.” Yanan said. He already looked close to tears, but it was probably the onions, “I’ll cry forever.”

Hyunah redirected the conversation.

“Hyojong, right? What’s he like?” Her heels thumped against his cupboards as she swung her legs. Hwitaek splashed some soy sauce into his concoction.

“He’s sweet.” Hwitaek mumbled, just barely loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the stovetop, “He’s dumb. I don’t know. I just want to be around him all the time. Every new thing I learn about him makes him even more amazing. I talk to him when we face shelves but it never feels like enough. I want to talk to him forever. He’s like that.” And he was on his way to Hwitaek’s apartment.

“So, not like us?” Hyuna quipped.

“Yeah.”

Wooseok grumbled a protests and elbowed Hwitaek in the arm. Yuto scooped up the spinach he was done chopping with cupped hands and dumped it in Hwitaek’s pan. Hwitaek nodded at him appreciatively.

“I’m excited to meet him.” Yanan said, and Hyunah nodded in earnest agreement, “You’re so aloof all the time, Hui. It’s nice to see you so animated.”

“Also,” Yuto interjected, “I’m excited to finally find out if that blond kid in my Economics class and Hyojong are the same guy.”

“I keep telling you to just take a picture, but you won’t.” Hwitaek turned his attention to Yuto, but Yanan’s words stayed warm in his chest.

“It’s _creepy_ , Hui.”

Hwitaek opened his mouth to argue, but then:

The doorbell rang.

Hyojong arrived.

“Shit.”

Hwitaek pushed his way past his friends, nearly dislodging Hyunah from the counter as he did so.

“Shit, um.” He turned to his crew, pushed a hand through his hair, rubbed his palms on his jeans, “Wooseok. There’s rice in the rice cooker. Enough for six people. Yuto: Try to spread the stuff out evenly for everyone, um. Just get a ladle or something and put it over the rice. Yanan: stack up the cutting boards and stuff, if you want to. Hyunah–” She gave him a soft, affection smile. He spluttered, “Um. Stay cute.”

Hyunah spoke to him in Korean, which Yanan and Yuto didn’t understand and Wooseok pretended not to hear, “ _Don’t worry, Hui. It’s gonna go great. How could he not love you?_ ”

The tension in his shoulders melted. He nodded at her, and then turned to sprint for the door. He’d left Hyojong waiting long enough.

 

“Hi!” Hyojong said when Hwitaek opened the door, and then, “I brought wine!” And then, “I like your nails. Pretty.”

They were lilac with yellow flowers painted meticulously on the center of each nail. It took Hwitaek an hour and a half to do.

“What’s your favorite color?” Hwitaek blurted.

Hyojong didn’t even seem to register the question as odd, “Black.” He answered.

Out of 72 bottles, Hwitaek didn’t have a single black nail polish.

Hwitaek must have let some of his consternation creep onto his face, because Hyojong let out his  bright and pretty laugh

“I like this purple, too,” He took one of Hwitaek’s hands and brought it close to his face to better examine the paint job, “It’s pretty. It matches your hair.”

Hwitaek used his free hand to card through the aforementioned dusty purple hair, suddenly bashful. Hyojong dropped their hands from his eye level but didn’t let go of Hwitaek’s fingers. He simply let them hang there, and moved on to look over Hwitaek’s shoulder, as if the contact wasn’t even happening.

“What’s all the noise?” He asked.

“Oh.” Hwitaek shook his head to clear his thoughts. The two fingers that Hyojong had a loose grip on were warm, “I invited some friends over.”

Hyojong didn’t seem to be expecting that.

“Okay.” He said eventually, “ _That’s cool. I’ve always wondered what kind of friends you have, Hyung._ ”

Hwitaek wanted to know what kind of friends Hyojong had. He wanted to know what he did outside of the store. He wanted to know if he had any pets, if he really did end up buying those flowers that Hwitaek suggested, if he grew other plants, what music he listened to, everything under the sun.

“ _Dinner is still my treat, though. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they had anything to do with it_ .” Hwitaek hooked his two fingers in between two of Hyojong’s and lead him into the apartment, “ _A hundred percent original Lee Hwitaek invention._ ”

Hyojong laughed, in that way that made his eyes crinkle and his chin jut out, as he let himself be dragged along by Hwitaek

“ _I’m excited to try it out_.”

“Oh, fun.” A voice groaned. Yuto leaned out from behind the doorway to the kitchen, “You know what I’ve always wanted? To be around _more Koreans_. Three really isn’t a crowd, in this situation.”

Hyojong smiled, “You’re in my Economics class.”

Hwitaek nodded solemnly, “I knew it.”

 

Hyojong brought wine. Hyunah liked him already.

And it turned out whatever Hwitaek cooked wasn’t so bad. No one had it in them to finish their bowls, but they all agreed it could have been worse. Hyojong said he had never been around so many Asians since the day he’d moved to their town. Hwitaek told him that that was the point. Wooseok whined about how _yeah_ , he wasn’t _technically_ old enough to drink from the wine bottle they were passing around, but this was _private property_. It made Hwitaek realize that Hyojong couldn’t be more than a year younger than him, if he was old enough to buy alcohol. Hyunah liked Hyojong, Yanan liked Hyojong, Wooseok and Yuto also liked Hyojong. It made Hwitaek incredibly happy, and perhaps the point of the evening was to let Hyojong and his friends get to know each other, he was very much hogging him.

Hwitaek asked Hyojong questions. Some in Korean, some in English, some in both.

_What’s your favorite season?_

_Fall._

_Favorite animal?_

_Um. Cats._

_Favorite food?_

_Anything Korean._

_What music do you listen to?_

_Uh, like, underground hip hop groups. You probably wouldn’t know them. No, I’m kidding. But, I dunno, you probably wouldn’t._

_What do you watch on Youtube._

_….Slime videos._

_Any pets?_

_No._

_Live on campus?_

_I’m moving out next semester._

_What’s your major?_

_Undecided._

_Soft or crunchy peanut butter?_

_Dude, I don’t know. Soft._

_Why do you wear fake freckles?_

Hyojong got defensive at that one, holding the wine bottle close to his chest.

“I just like how they look.”

“Don’t hog the wine.” Hyunah called.

“I like how they look, too.” Hwitaek said. Hyojong passed the wine to Hyunah.

Hyojong leaned back against the sofa he was sitting on, next to Hwitaek. They both had their feet up on the couch. Yanan, Yuto, Wooseok and Hyunah had drifted off into their own conversations long ago, apparently recognizing that none of them were going to get a turn with Hyojong.

“I feel like I’m on a quiz show. Do you do this to all your dates?”

“I want to know more about you.” Hwitaek said simply.

Hyojong gave a lopsided smile, “I like the way you do your nails.”

“I already knew _that_.”

Hyojong shoved him gently across their legs, “Well, I like them a lot. You’re the first boy I’ve met who does that.”

Hwitaek softened at that. As if he wasn’t already soft for this blond haired, occasionally blue eyed courtesy clerk, “You’re the only other boy I know who wears makeup.”

“You wear makeup?” Hyojong’s eyes widened, “It looks so natural.”

Hwitaek snorted, “Not right now, dummy. Not at work either.” He darted his eyes as he felt Hyojong’s gaze roaming across his face, “Just when I want to feel fancy.”

“You didn’t want to feel fancy for our date?” Hyojong teased.

“I wasn’t sure it was going to be a date!”

Hyojong laughed and then said, “I’ve never done anything more than the freckles.” Then, “I’ve always wanted to.”

Hwitaek gave him a contemplative look. Hyojong was quiet for a moment, just staring, fiddling with a loose thread on the pillow he had rested on his knees.

“I want to see you in makeup.” Hyojong said.

Hwitaek looked over to his friends. Hyunah was having an animated conversation with Yuto, but her eyebrows quirked when she met his eyes.

He took Hyojong’s hand and stood up, Hyojong followed suit, pillow he was holding fall to the ground. He could hear his friends wolf-whistling as he headed past the couch they were all sitting on to get to his bedroom. Hyunah was yelling for him to “get it!” and Yuto was warning them to not make too much noise. Hyojong was grinning like an idiot.

Hwitaek hadn’t had the foresight to clean his room, but Hyojong seemed fine with it, only smiling bemusedly at a pair of black vinyl pants Hwitaek had tossed on his bed.

“Fancy.” He said, “Why didn’t you wear those today?”

“What, you don’t like this?”

He was wearing a cheetah print button up, tucked unceremoniously into blue jeans and paired with a fake pearl necklace around his neck. Hyojong was wearing a Tommy Hilfiger polo. He looked good.

Hyojong reached forward to hold the collar of Hwitaek’s shirt in his fingers, as if he was inspecting the material, “No, I like this. It looks better on you than the uniform.”

“Thanks.” Hwitaek said. He batted Hyojong’s hand away, the hand with the flower tattoo underneath the thumb, and moved to pull another chair up to his vanity,

Sometimes he felt a little bit ridiculous, having an apartment that didn’t even have a TV, but had a vanity, but it beat waiting outside of the bathroom for Hyunah to finish up her hour long showers.

And besides, sitting in front of his vanity really made him feel that That Bitch.

Hyojong obediently sat down in the chair Hwitaek pulled up and Hwitaek sat down in front of his dresser. He opened one of his makeup drawers and begane rifling through it. He could feel Hyojong’s eyes on him, and he was suddenly shy. He felt like he was revealing something. Like the corner of Hyojong’s heart tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. Like something intimate. Hwitaek looked up and he could see Hyojong watching him in the mirror.

He turned to Hyojong suddenly, “What kind of look should I do?”

“Oh,” He looked like he’d been snapped out of a trance, “I don’t know. You’re the expert.”

“You suck.” Hwitaek whined and went back to his drawer.

“What do you normally do?” Hyojong asked earnestly.

“Light foundation. Soft shadow with a cat eye. Pink or red lip. Orange shadow looks best with this hair, though.”

“Then do that. With a pink lip? I don’t know if red would look good with the orange.”

Hwitaek peeked over his shoulder at Hyojong. Hyojong was leaning forward in his chair, paying rapt attention. They both turned pink when their eyes met. Hwitaek went hurriedly back to his makeup.

“Okay. Sounds good.”

He pretended not to feel Hyojong staring at him as he worked. All of his products were drugstore, which he usually bragged about, seeing as how cheap they were, but he suddenly felt embarrassed of. He used his $5 and incredibly stained beauty blender to swipe foundation across his forehead, cheeks, nose and chin, watching as his moles and blemishes all vanished. Hyojong gasped when he finished, and it didn’t sound like teasing, it sounded like real amazement. Hwitaek’s had to stop himself from smiling, to keep his foundation undisrupted while it dried.

“I usually try to keep my base light. It keeps you from feeling oily, and it makes everything look more natural. It’s also better for your skin in the long term.”

He began loading his favorite orange eyeshadow onto a small brush. When he looked up from his pallette Hyojong was standing with his hands in his pockets and his neck craned forwards. He smiled bashfully when he caught Hwitaek’s eye in the mirror, but Hwitaek didn’t tell him to sit back down and he didn’t.

As Hwitaek spread pigment across his eyelid, feathering it out as he reached his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes, Hyojong stepped closer to the dresser. Closer until his hands rested on the back of Hwitaek’s chair.

Closer until his hands were on the collar of Hwitaek’s shirt, fingers brushing the back of his neck. Hwitaek breathed in sharply, Hyojong let a soft sigh out. Hwitaek the base of his eyeshadow and then dipped his brush in an salmon color.

“I’m going to add a little of this around the edges to blend the orange better into my skin, and to create a little bit more dimension,” He said breathlessly. Hyojong nodded along, “And it’ll help tie the pink lip into the look.”

Hwitaek put down his brush and pushed his eyeshadow to the side, reaching for his lipsticks. One of Hyojong’s hands drifted to Hwitaek’s shoulder, the other found the nape of his neck, running a finger against his hairline. The gentle feeling of it spread down Hwitaek’s arms and back.

He picked out the pale, corally pink he wanted to use and then grabbed a small brush.

“Um.” He tried to bring his thoughts away from Hyojong’s fingers and back to his brain, “You can just put lipstick on directly, but you have more control when you use a little brush like this.”

“ _That’s cool_ .” Hyojong said softly and in Korean, “ _Wait–_ ”

Hyojong’s hands moved from Hwitaek’s shoulders down to his wrists. Hwitaek watched them, the flower tattoo, the rings and bracelets, the warmth of them.

“ _Let me put it on you. For practice. I want to do it to myself some day_.”

“ _You’d better not fuck my face up, Hyojong_.”

Hyojong laughed his bright, pretty laugh.

“ _I won’t_ . _Promise_.”

Hwitaek let himself be dragged by his wrist away from his vanity and towards his unmade bed. Hyojong climbed up and sat cross-legged on one end and Hwitaek followed suit on the other, using his free hand to push his vinyl pants off of the bed. They swept loudly against the sheets and landed in a spiky heap on the floor. Hyojong giggled.

He let go of Hwitaek’s wrist and gingerly took the lipstick and the brush from him. He uncapped the lipstick with a pop.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Hwitaek said, “ _Just press the brush against the top. A couple swipes should be enough pigment._ ”

Hyojong nodded and got diligently to work, doing the most careful, delicate possible strokes. Hwitaek laughed at him breathlessly.

They were sitting close enough together than their toes touched. Hwitaek could see the crease in between Hyojong’s eyebrows as he concentrated, he could see a real mole among the painted freckles. He could see Hyojong’s dark eyelashes and even darker eyes, his lips, bright pink without the lipstick he was carefully working on.

“ _Why do you like flowers so much?_ ” Hwitaek asked, suddenly and stupidly.

Hyojong looked up from his work, startled, but his expression turned thoughtful.

“ _I don’t know. Isn’t it nice, though? To start something, and care for it, and then watch it bloom?_ ”

Hwitaek thought of the tattoo on Hyojong’s thumb, the flower he touched the first day they met.

Hyojong finally brought the brush away from the lipstick. He seemed to be considering Hwitaek’s lips, and then he placed the brush against them, right on the center of his bottom lip. Hwitaek felt electrified at the unfamiliar feeling of someone else doing his makeup, like Hyojong was pressing into his lip with a finger instead of the brush. He stared at Hyojong. Hyojong stared at his lips, his eyebrows raised. He didn’t move the brush for a solid three seconds.

Then four, then five. His gaze slowly drifted up to meet Hwitaek’s.

“HWITAEK, HYOJONG!”

They scrambled away from each other. The brush dragged a pink strip down Hwitaek’s chin. Hyunah burst into the room.

“Me and the boys are leaving!” Hyunah seemed nonplussed by whatever she perceived the two of them to be doing. She pointed at Hyojong, “This is all your fault! You brought in some wine and now I’m all riled up! Me and Yanan are going out for more drinks. Yuto and Wooseok will, I don’t know, have some lemonade.”

“I–” Hwitaek clutched his chest, “ _Jesus_ , okay. Have fun.”

Hyunah glared at him with intensity. She was definitely already a little tipsy, “No, _you_ have fun.” Her glare moved  to Hyojong, who had his back pressed against the wall and the lipstick gripped tightly, “ _You_ have fun. I love you, Hwitaek.”

She left the room without closing the door, but somehow decided the lights should be turned off. The only light left was from the living room. Hwitaek’s room went from fully illuminated by white light to bathed in a dim orange glow. There came the sounds of Hyunah stomping down the hallway, Yanan, Yuto, and Wooseok talking and shouting amongst themselves. Then, after the sound of the front door opening, the living room lights shut off, too. Finally, the sound of the front door closing behind his friends. Hyojong and Hwitaek were engulfed in darkness.

Hyojong laughed suddenly.

“Oh my God,” He said, “Oh my _God_. I think I just had a heart attack.”

Hwitaek put his forehead in his hands and began to laugh too, “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m–” Hyojong began to cough, “I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard all week.”

Hwitaek reached out for Hyojong in the dark, and found his elbow. He held onto it.

“ _Did you get lipstick on my chin?_ ” He asked in Korean.

Hyojong fit his words in between giggles, “ _I don’t know. It’s dark, I can’t see. I think I did, though._ ”

“ _Motherfucker_.”

Hwitaek tugged on Hyojong’s sleeve, trying to pull him closer, and Hyojong toppled towards him. He felt the brush of one of Hyojong’s fingers as his hand landed beside Hwitaek’s thigh. Hyojong’s other hand reached out and felt blindly, ghosting over Hwitaek’s arm and his chest before finding a place on the side of Hwitaek’s neck. He was still laughing, but it eventually faded into breathy sighs. Those faded, too, until they were quiet and alone. Hyojong’s thumb (the thumb with the flower, Hwitaek knew even in the dark) rubbed gently back and forth against Hwitaek’s jaw. The hand Hwitaek had on Hyojong’s elbow moved up, up until his palm was pressed against where he knew the heart was tattooed. It wasn’t quite over Hyojong’s heart, but he could feel his heartbeat through it. They stayed silent. Hwitaek could only see an outline of Hyojong in the dark.

“ _What are you going to school for?_ ” Hwitaek asked. He’d forgotten to ask that one.

“ _Music theory_.”

Hwitaek stared even though he couldn’t see, “ _REALLY? That’s so cool!_ ”

Hyojong giggled, Hwitaek felt it against his hand, “ _What about you_?”

“ _Education. That’s boring, compared to yours_ .” He could tell Hyojong was about to protest and kept talking, “ _So, you rap, right? You told me you like hiphop._ ”

Hyojong ran his thumb down Hwitaek’s neck, “ _Yeah. I rap_.”

“ _No, way! That’s so fucking cool. You have to show me sometime._ ”

“ _Not until you finish showing me how to do makeup._ ”

Hwitaek pouted, “ _I don’t want to move, though._ ”

Hyojong giggled. His hand moved away from Hwitaek’s neck and down to his lower back. Hwitaek couldn’t see him, but he felt Hyojong move closer. He uncrossed his legs and felt Hyojong’s thighs slot between them. Hwitaek’s hand moved from Hyojong’s chest to his waist.

“ _You really like my tattoos, huh?_ ” Hyojong said with a teasing lilt.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _I have one right there, too_.”

Hwitaek gaped, “ _I didn’t even know_.”

“ _I thought you knew everything_.”

“ _I don’t._ ” Hwitaek protested, “ _What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?_ ”

“ _Vanilla_.”

“ _Lame_.”

Hyojong pressed even closer, until Hwitaek was on his back.

“ _Is this okay?_ ” Hyojong asked. Hwitaek nodded vigorously, Hyojong must have felt it against his shoulder.

“ _Ask me another question, Hyung._ ” Hyojong mumbled.

Hwitaek could barely think through the beating of his heart and the warmth of being underneath Hyojong.

“ _I, um, what do you like to do? Like, hobbies?_ ”

“ _Lately? My favorite thing is to go to work and talk to you_ ,” Hyojong pressed his foreahead against Hwitaek’s neck, he spoke against his collarbone. Hwitaek burned alive, “ _But usually I just like to garden and work on music. You already knew that, though._ ”

“ _Yeah, I already knew that_.” Hwitaek repeated breathlessly.

“ _Ask me another one_ .” Hyojong said, “ _Ask me what I want._ ”

“ _What do you want, Hyojong?_ ” Hwitaek whispered. There was no one left but him and Hyojong, but he whispered.

“ _When I was still new. When we walked out of the bathroom together and that lady thought we were– thought we were–_ ”

Hwitaek laughed, because it was funny that Hyojong was being so daring, with his hands across Hwitaek’s body and his breath hot on his neck, but couldn’t say _making out_. He had almost forgotten about that day. He brought his hand up and brushed against the inside of Hyojong’s arm. He could feel Hyojong’s pulse. He imagined he could feel the indents of Kiss me against his soft skin.

Hyojong continued, “ _I wanted, um. That day, I wanted her to be right._ ”

Hwitaek grinned, “ _Wow, Hyojong. What other dirty secrets have you been keeping from me_.”

“ _You look really hot in makeup_.”

Hwitaek found Hyojong’s lips in the darkness of his bedroom. He imagined the lipstick smearing on his lips and chin. He imaged Hyojong, blushing from the tips of his ears all the way to the base of his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> leave me a comment? and im hyuahyojong on tumblr


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